It's 2044. The world's a mess and Blane is alone and retired. But when a terrorist cell threaten the entire world with starting WW3 Blane must saddle up once more and work with an old friend to save the world. *Third in Series*

Hey Folks. Yep, New story. Ok this is pretty different from my other stories. This story is really just going to be following Blane so sorry to any of my fan's who are upset by this. Final note. I was either going to call this "The Final Hours" or "The 11th Hour" So in the reviews feel free to say which one you think is the better title.

The year was 2044 and the world was still a mess. War still ravished across the 3rd world countries and Britain didn't do anything unless they would benefit from it, whether it is, oil, coal or more cheap labourers to make trainers. Families were still unemployed with their children rioting in the streets. And the earth was still choking in the fumes made by the corporations. No one took notice as long as their leaders said everything was and the TV kept working so they could watch the mind numbing shows that were some how classed 'Entertainment.'

Blane however knew the truth, the death, the horror; the inhumanity that he faced day to day for the past 40 years was enough to send someone into insanity. So Blane hid the truth from himself, drowned it in the single malt scotch whiskey that sat on his coffee table in front of him, no ice. He took large, quick gulps and stared down his feet. Occasionally he would scratch his rough five o'clock shadow, he didn't bother shaving anymore. He wondered around the flat with the glass in one hand, the bottle in the other. I stood in the living room, up against the large window, which gave him a good view of the city of London. He stared out blankly at the thriving city in the middle of the night. Blane lightly and slowly mouthed counting to 10. Blane knew that once he hit 10 there would be at least one stabbing. He sighed heavily and turned away from the city. As he turned the glass slipped from his hand. In Blane's mind it was like the glass fell in slow motion, the glass tumbled as the scotch flew out in a spiral. Blane could have caught it; with years of training catching a falling glass would be child's play but Blane didn't do anything. He just glared at it. He didn't see the point in saving it. He didn't see the point in a lot of things nowadays. The glass smashed on impact, shards shot out in every direction and a small pool of scotch slowly began to spread out. Blane looked down at the hand that had been holding the glass, it was shaking. As he stared at his twitchy hand there was an echoing in his mind and suddenly the sounds of tires screeching roared in his eyes. His eyes instantly glazed over in anger. His shaking hand became a clenched fist with white knuckles. As the screeching became too loud to bare Blane screamed and through his fist towards the wall. His fist went straight through the dry wall. The fist sat nestled in the wall for a few moments while he calmed himself and his mind quietened again. He returned to his neutral state of total emptiness. He slowly inspected his hand and concluded there was nothing wrong. He looked at the glass then around him. He took a heavily sigh and decided to go out for a walk to get some air. As he turned towards the door he suddenly stopped and looked down at himself with a sudden realisation. He was in a messy white t-shirt, faded grey pyjamas bottoms and a furry light blue dressing gown; it was a Christmas present Daisy gave him from god knows how long. He headed for his bedroom to get a change of clothing. He entered into the near pinch black room that was faintly lit by streetlights outside. He stood in the darkness for a few moments before clicking the lights on. Only one side of the bed was being used. The only was well made, neat and had barely been touched in years. Blane wondered over to his wardrobe and got changed. A red and white-checkered shirt, a tattered black flight jacket, loose fit jeans and a pair of faded work boots. He had one last look in the mirror to check if he could finally recognise the man that stared back at him. He looked, no hope. Blane Whittaker had become something not even he could recognise.

Blane walked outside onto the street and looked down both ways of the street, contemplating which way to go. He finally decided on left. Blane walked through the seedy streets that London had become. Dark alleys, flickering lights. Blane didn't like calling it home but it was. The air was cold so Blane popped his collar, kept his head down and shoved his hands deep into his pocket. The streets were pretty quiet, there were few cars on the road and when there were they would come in large but short bursts. Cars would whizz past him and his hair would be thrown around his face. The icy air began to prick at Blane's ears and nose so he decided to get out of the cold.

Blane cut left and entered into a small corner shop. The place was deserted, only a middle aged Indian man who was presumably the owner. The lights gave off a pale white tinge that made the shop feel like a hospital word. As Blane entered there was near complete silence, only the dull buzz from the lights and radio, which played the Beatles song from their psychedelic phase. As Blane walked in he glanced at the Indian man and they shared a quickly smile and nod of pleasant acknowledgement. Blane headed to the back where the alcohol was kept. He inspected the selection and decided on some Cider, drink lightly tonight. Blane knelt down to grab a bottle of Magners cider off the bottle. As he got down 'Back in the USSR' began to play but over the song he heard footsteps, they were getting faster, and louder. There was a thud of the shop door as it was thrown open. There was shouting, two young, hesitant voices. Blane stayed down but looked up at the mirror that was placed in the top corner of the shop, which allowed him to see everything that was happening. They were two young guys, basically children in Blane's eyes. One was white with a red anorak jacket that had the hood pulled up; he was holding a glock 17. The other was a black boy in white Nike hoody and navy blue baseball cap that was pushed down low to cover his face; he was carrying a mini Uzi. It was obvious to Blane that people would presume the black boy was the leader because that was how the world worked.

"Give us the money, Blood." The hooded boy in the exclaimed. The boy in the cap didn't speak. The shop owner had his hands up next to his face. "The money!" The sweat began to pour off the man's face in fear. Blane was still knelt in cover. Blane took a deep inhale full of disappointment.

Blane grabbed a bottle of Cider and stood up. He silently and quietly lined himself up with boy in the cap. He rushed up to the boy in the cap and he got closer he hurled the bottle at the hooded boy. The bottle struck him in the back of head, which flopped him forward. He fell and slammed his face on the counter, leaving blood smears and teeth on it. The second boy spun around to fire but Blane dodged left and grabbed his wrist. The boy began to fire but Blane pushed his wrist and he fired towards the ceiling. Blane tripped the boy up and through him into the glass door refrigerator, which his head went straight through. Blane took a deep breath of relaxation then reached through the hole of the glass, passing the head that was still firmly stuck there and grabbed a carton of milk. He approached the counter where the Indian man still had his hands up, he still seemed nervous.

"You can put your hands down." Blane said reassuringly as he set milk on the counter. The man smiled nervously but began to relax as he lowered his hands. As Blane looked down at the milk carton he suddenly remembered what he was going to get it. He rushed back and grabbed another bottle of cider. As he returned the hooded boy that now had blood gushing from his mouth began to moan and tried to lift himself but Blane send him back down and out with the heel of his boot. "Sorry." Blane apologised and cracked an embarrassed smile.

"No!" said the man as Blane reached for his wallet. "Please, take what you like. It's the least I could do." He grinned at a taken back Blane.

"Ok. Well I'll take these and also could I get a pack of Benson and Hedges please?" Blane requested as he pointed to the cigarette rack behind him. The man quickly obliged. "Thanks. You might wanna phone the police about these two, I wouldn't bother with an ambulance." They exchanged a smile and Blane left casually.

Blane walked out onto the street and headed home. In the distance, in an alley on the opposite side of the street sat a jet black BMW Series 3. The windows weren't tinted but long shadows that spread across the car hid their identity. Blane noticed it straight away; it was inconspicuous, so inconspicuous it stuck out. He caught it in the corner of his eye but decided not to react. He instead carried on and kept an eye out.

Blane arrived home and approached his front door. As he reached it he stopped. He looked suspiciously at the door then looked around him. He raised his hand to the door and poked it, the door then opened wide with a loud and prolonged creak. Someone was here. He took a small step inside and flicked the lights on. The lights shot on and an irritating sight faced Blane.

In the dark red leather Victorian chair, which Daisy once adored, sat Adrian Baker, respected Intelligence Chief and overall smug individual. Blane and he never truly got on. While Blane got places through hard work and skill, Adrian got them through wealth. He got on Cambridge education and had attended several luxurious private schools before that and this lead him to treat everyone else like simple-minded commoners, he was worse than the worm. Adrian sat in his sapphire blue three-piece suit with a maroon red tie. To the left of him stood a heavy built man in black polo neck sweater with a charcoal grey suit over it. There were two other men who stood opposite each other against the walls in similar outfits.

"Hello Blane. It's been a while." Adrian said with an unwelcome smile.

"What do you want Baker?" Blane asked as he strolled in. "Just in the neighbourhood?" Blane smirked to himself and left to put the milk in the fridge.

"We were wanting to see how you were?"

"Me? I'm great. Just peachy." Blane stated out of sight in the kitchen. Adrian and his guards looked over at the gapping how in the wall but didn't say anything.

"Blane I'll try cut straight to the point." Adrian cleared his throat. "We need you back. It is of critical importance." All they heard was a chuckle from Blane.

"I'm not sure if anyone mentioned to you." Blane began as he remerged into the room, holding the cider bottle and drinking straight from it. "But I quit."

"We are well aware of that." Adrian looked away. "But we need your help, just for one more mission."

"Let me guess." Blane took a drink of his cider and lent on the wall. "You wanna invade another country for oil and you wanna look like you actually made an effort to find WMD's. I hear Israel is nice this time of year."

"You might find this funny but the fate of the world is at stalk." Adrian stood from the chair to state his seriousness.

"Sure." Blane rolled his eyes and took another drink. "I'll pass on this one but thanks for stopping by." He gave a sarcastic smile.

"Please Blane." Adrian placed his hand on Blane's shoulder. "If Daisy was here you know she would want you to help save the day, even for just one more time."

Time stopped in Blane's mind. How dare he say that? Blane looked at the hand on his shoulder then stared down at Adrian. The screeching was back and he could hear screaming this time. They got louder and once they reached their peak Blane hit Adrian with a swift uppercut, which sent him back and onto his ass. The guards stood forward, ready to beat Blane to a pulp (or at least try) but Adrian raised his hand to stop them.

"How dare you? How the fuck dare? You didn't know her. So don't come in here telling me what she would want." Blane exclaimed with a great fury as he glared down at Adrian.

"Yes. How rude of me. I'm terribly sorry." The guards helped him up. "But you know Blane. You can't hide from the world forever." They began to leave but before he left Adrian took out a business card and placed it on the phone table by the keys. "Just think about it. You know where to find us."

And almost instantly he and his men were gone and Blane was left alone in total silence.

Hope you enjoyed! Sorry if it sucks, still getting into the swing of things. Also there might be slight gaps in chapters... Sorry. Please R&R

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.